


Date Night

by silentdescant



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Teasing, Unnamed characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s dressed in one of his button-down shirts, and it’s damp all across the shoulders and down the back from her wet hair dripping onto it. Her hair’s dry now, gleaming red and falling in lovely, soft waves around her shoulders, but the damp spots still darken the white fabric.</p>
<p>He’s interrupted her putting on her makeup, getting ready for tonight’s date of dinner and dancing, so she’s only sporting some basic eyeliner and ivory foundation muting the pink of her cheeks, flushed from the heat of the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to experiment with not naming characters at all, so that's very intentional in this ficlet. I wrote this as Jeff/Hilarie, but you can pretty easily read these two as original characters.

She’s dressed in one of his button-down shirts, and it’s damp all across the shoulders and down the back from her wet hair dripping onto it. Her hair’s dry now, gleaming red and falling in lovely, soft waves around her shoulders, but the damp spots still darken the white fabric.

He’s interrupted her putting on her makeup, getting ready for tonight’s date of dinner and dancing, so she’s only sporting some basic eyeliner and ivory foundation muting the pink of her cheeks, flushed from the heat of the shower. She has a make-up brush in her hand and a colorful palette of eye shadow open on the granite countertop, and when she catches a glimpse of him in the mirror, she drops the brush into the sink.

“You scared me,” she laughs, clutching her chest with one hand to play up the rapid pace of her heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He smiles and shrugs, holding her gaze in the mirror. “I didn’t sneak, you just didn’t notice me.”

“You want to shower?” she asks.

He bites his lip and lets his eyes wander down her slender form, mostly hidden by his shirt, which fits her about as well as a tent would. It does afford him an excellent view of her long, pale legs, however, which he appreciates. “I’d rather wait,” he finally answers.

She’s returned her attention to her own reflection rather than his, leaning in for a closer view as she applies her eye shadow. “Wait for what?” she asks.

“Until after we fuck,” he replies simply.

“Are you implying we’re going to fuck before dinner?” she asks as she flicks a mascara wand against her eyelashes. Her eyes are open comically wide, and once she finishes speaking her mouth drops open as well while she does the other eye. When she’s finished with the mascara, she twists the cap back on and turns around to face him, leaning her ass against the granite. She taps the tube of mascara against her open palm and raises an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

He takes two steps, fully entering the bathroom, and slides his hands up her chest, carefully between her breasts, and grabs the open lapels of the shirt. “This is mine,” he murmurs, avoiding her question.

“I haven’t decided what I’m gonna wear, yet,” she replies in a low voice. The closer they are to each other, the quieter they get. She stares up at him through those thick black lashes and continues, smirking, “And I thought, I probably shouldn’t run around naked while I’m getting ready.”

He tugs the shirt firmly and a button pops free, revealing more ivory skin at her sternum. He schools his expression into solemnity and says, “I disagree. You should definitely run around naked while you’re getting ready.”

He hears the clatter of her tossing the mascara onto the counter and then her arms come up around his neck. In the same movement, he grasps her waist and hoists her up smoothly onto the counter, and she parts her legs for him to step between them. He drops his hands down to her thighs and slowly drags them upward, pushing the fabric of the shirt higher inch by inch. Whether she’s wearing underwear yet is a mystery, and one he’s eager to solve.

Before he reaches her waist, though, she yanks the next two buttons free and the shirt slides off her shoulders, down to her elbows, and her tits are beautifully displayed, framed by the white fabric. She’s complained about them being too small, but he always tells her they fit perfectly into his palms; his hands are drawn there as if by magnets, and he abandons his quest to find underwear in favor of cupping her breasts and gently pinching her nipples between his fingers.

She rolls her head back, elongating her neck and letting her hair fall away from her thin, sharp shoulders. He kisses her there, at the knobby peak of bone, and nibbles his way inward until he reaches her throat. As he sucks a mark into her skin—it reddens so easily, he barely has to work at marking her—she wraps her long legs around his waist and locks her ankles together, trapping him against her.

“You’re not remotely dressed for our date,” she says, her voice throaty with desire. It’s true: he’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a simple v-neck tee, both stained with oil from working out in the garage this afternoon.

“Think we should rectify that?” he asks.

She answers with actions rather than words, quickly unbuttoning the jeans and shoving them down his hips along with his underwear, but she won’t unlock her legs from around him to make it easier. As soon as his cock is freed, the pants don’t matter; he can work with them still around his thighs.

While he yanks the t-shirt over his head, she undoes the last two buttons holding the shirt closed around her waist, and reveals that she is wearing underwear. It’s one of her more comfortable pairs, soft white fabric with just a bit of black, lacy elastic around the waist and leg holes. There’s too much fabric to simply pull aside so they can fuck, and she’ll never stand for him ripping them off, which means they’ll have to come off the usual way. He lays his hands on her thighs again, silently coaxing her to unwrap her legs from around his waist.

She leans back on her elbows, her shoulders flush against the mirror, and smirks up at him. He slides his hands up until his fingertips graze the crease of her thighs, lightly teasing the skin beneath the black lace.

Instead of unlocking her legs, she rolls her hips and shoves forward, nearly slipping off the counter, but it brings his hard cock into contact with the damp fabric covering her pussy. She’s wet inside the panties, and he’s leaking against the outside. He can feel the curves of her lips, tantalizingly out of view.

“You just gonna tease me?” he groans.

“Maybe I should,” she replies haughtily, as if this isn’t affecting her at all. Her body betrays her, but she has excellent control of her voice.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he says. “I’ll make it so good for you.”

Her smirk widens into a full grin. “I don’t need you inside me to make it good,” she points out with another deliberate roll of her hips. She’s rubbing her clit against his cock, and his body rages against the thin barrier of fabric between them.

“This is how you want it, then?” he asks, and she nods eagerly.

He slides his hands around to her ass, pushing his fingers up beneath the lace to clutch at smooth skin. She throws one hand up and lays her palm against the mirror for leverage, pushes against it to force their bodies firmly together. His cock is pinned between his belly and her pussy, and it’s wet from his own precome and her soaked panties. They move together, grinding against each other, each chasing their own orgasm.

He leans over her and bites the inner curve of her breast, leaving a semi-circular mark that will most likely show if she wears a low-cut dress, and she cries out and comes, gasping, her fingers slipping against the mirror, her body damp with sweat.

She flings her arms around his neck and he stands up straight, dragging her with him, and she locks her legs tight around his hips rather than all the way around his back. This angle affords him more leverage, and he clutches her against him, reveling in the softness of her breasts against his bare chest and her hair tickling his arms. She sucks and nibbles his earlobe and whispers, “Come on, baby, do it,” and he comes, slicking her underwear and both of their bellies.

He holds onto her while he catches his breath, and she lets her legs dangle toward the floor, her bony ankles skimming his calves. When he can speak again, he says, “I’ll take that shower now.”

She laughs and buries her face against his neck. “I need one too. Again. Thanks a lot. We’re gonna be late for dinner.”

“You don’t need one,” he tells her, and steps away to retrieve a few tissues to wipe them clean.

“I smell like sweat,” she protests.

“You smell like sex,” he replies, inhaling deeply. “And I love it. It makes me crazy.”

“I do love driving you crazy,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she considers this. “Get in the shower, you filthy, sexy beast, and I’ll finish getting ready. We might still make our reservation.”

He kicks off the jeans and underwear that still constrict his legs and steps into the shower. It steams up quickly, fogging the glass door enough that he can’t clearly make her out through it. He focuses on getting clean, washing away the come and the motor oil and the sweat, and steps out of the shower a few minutes later feeling like a new man. He wraps a towel around his waist and goes in search of an appropriate suit for the upscale restaurant and finds her fully dressed out in the bedroom, standing at the dresser, picking through her a jewelry box.

She turns around when she hears him come in and holds up two glittering necklaces, each of them sparkling with gold and diamonds. The dress she’s wearing is red, darker than her hair but no less vibrant, and it hugs her body down to her thighs, where it flares out slightly for ease of movement. The hem skims her knees and she’s wearing tall, strappy shoes still don’t add enough height to make their eyes level.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“Beautiful,” he replies breathlessly. It’s an honest, genuine reaction, and he loves telling her she takes his breath away.

“I meant the jewelry,” she says with a light chuckle. Her cheeks flush faintly pink.

He closes the distance between them and takes one of the necklaces out of her hand. She moves her hair aside so he can latch it at the nape of her neck, and he kisses her while he’s leaned in close.

She smells like jasmine perfume and, beneath that, like sex.

He kisses her again—he just can’t resist—and she slaps her palm gently against his bare chest. “Get dressed,” she says firmly. “Or we’ll be late for our date.”

 

_fin_.


End file.
